


Little Light That Shines for Me

by preferablynameless



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preferablynameless/pseuds/preferablynameless
Summary: “Why are you all the way over there, Crowley?”Crowley is all the way over there because she doesn’t know what she might do if she moved any closer. It seems the safest option to maintain a physical distance now that the political one has vanished.Or: Just another take on “post-Apoca-Lapse nightcap at the bookshop that leads to stuff”.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 69





	Little Light That Shines for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Night Light” by Sleater-Kinney.

“Why are you all the way over there, Crowley?”

Crowley is all the way over there because she doesn’t know what she might do if she moved any closer. It seems the safest option to maintain a physical distance now that the political one has vanished.

Euphoria is a potent intoxicant, more potent than the red wine they’re continuing their celebration with. She thinks of overjoyed humans, jumping around, hugging and spontaneously kissing when an event turns out well – their chosen sports team winning, an election not ending in disaster, a war ending. She relates too much to them.

It’d almost be excusable at the moment, is the thing.

Aziraphale pats the sofa cushion next to her, eyeing her expectantly.

Crowley comes over there because of course she does. She sits a respectable distance away, back straighter than it’s used to, and her whole body remains frozen, a wild cyclone shielded by a thin ice sheet.

She feels like any movement of her limbs would be awkward and piercingly loud in the quiet, so she doesn’t move. She looks down at her glass, hoping Aziraphale will resume speaking soon.

Aziraphale slowly inhales and exhales, and then grasps her hand, holding it in one of her own. She starts stroking the back of it with her other hand.

Crowley doesn’t breathe. “What are you doing?” she asks quietly.

“Holding your hand,” Aziraphale replies, like it’s obvious, which it is.

“I can see that,” Crowley drawls. It comes out more prickly than she was going for. She bites her lip as if that will prevent her from saying the wrong things. She doesn’t dare speak the word “why”. Even though she has no idea what answer that might elicit, she’s afraid of it, preemptively.

Aziraphale sighs again. Crowley can’t tell if it’s a weary sigh or one meant to lend courage.

“Would you look at me?” Aziraphale requests, like she thinks it’s possible the answer might be “no”.

Crowley looks at her. Eye contact didn’t use to be so tricky when they were sharing a joke or exchanging the self-satisfied glance of co-conspirators (mischevious on one end and faux-innocent on the other). It was also loads easier with a pair of shades giving her the advantage of being the only one knowing where both of them looked.

Aziraphale lifts a hand to impossibly, unbelievably, cup her jaw. Her cheeks are slightly red and her eyes kind. She leans in and kisses Crowley on the mouth. It’s gentle and brief. Their lips part with a soft sound. Crowley still doesn’t breathe.

“Is this what you want?” Aziraphale asks softly. She hasn’t moved far, her hand still on Crowley’s jaw. Crowley can’t look away from her tender eyes. The fleeting contact of her lips tasted of red wine, but she’s barely had a glass. She isn’t that drunk.

Crowley needs. Now, when she’s got a taste, she can’t possibly be expected to go back to being bereft of Aziraphale’s touch. It’s what she’s craved, what she’s dreamt about in the dark of night for centuries, ever since humans decided romantic kissing was a thing. Ever since she’s seen people wrapped up in one another like the contact inebriated them.

“Yeah, that’s – yes,” Crowley manages to stutter in the end. Heat crawls up her cheeks. Her eyes must be wide, and most likely entirely yellow.

Aziraphale smiles and caresses her cheek with her thumb before kissing her again. Crowley doesn’t respond. She doesn’t think she can accept this.

She draws back, heart pounding away like an old trip hammer powered by a stormy river.

“You don’t have to do this, angel,” she says, proud she’s managed to piece together a coherent sentence despite the strain in her voice. “Please.” She doesn’t know what she’s pleading for – does she wish for Aziraphale to stop or to continue?

Aziraphale gives her a confused look. She’s withdrawn to give Crowley space, and the distance between their bodies tastes of a sweet fruit that has soured. “Of course I don’t have to,” she says. “I’m not under the impression that people kiss each other because they must. And if they do, that’s less than ideal, of course.”

Crowley stares, trying to shift the puzzle pieces of this situation into something that makes sense. “Oh.”

“It’s all right if you don’t want this,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley let out a string of garbled noises which she hopes registers as protest.

“Or if you’ve got some…” Aziraphale’s hand leaves Crowley’s face so she can use it to gesture, “requirements, preferences, what have you.”

Crowley doesn’t answer, looking down at her lap. “You want to kiss me?” she asks, and it’s a fight to keep her voice neutral.

She chances a look at Aziraphale’s incredulous expression. Voice mantled in honeyed sarcasm, Aziraphale says, “No, I don’t want to kiss you. My mouth just accidentally fell on yours. Twice.” Voice softening, she adds, “I’m afraid I don’t follow your train of thought, dearest.”

Crowley swallows. “You keep talking about what I want. And that’s not… I don’t want anything if you don’t want to give it.”

Aziraphale stares at her, and her gaze isn’t as unnerving as before. Her face softens. “Oh, you ridiculous thing.” She raises her hand back up to stroke Crowley’s cheek. Crowley closes her eyes and turns her face into it, because it’s allowed now, isn’t it? If she’s been following the conversation correctly.

“I would like it very much if you kissed me,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley feels so warm she thinks she might evaporate.

She leans forward and covers Aziraphale’s lips with hers. The contact is light at first. It’s not enough. She gasps and presses into it, bringing her hands up to cup the sides of Aziraphale’s face.

She moves her lips against Aziraphale’s, slowly. Her heart is racing, and she feels insatiable. Their kisses deepen, and Crowley’s trembling hand slides down to hold on to Aziraphale’s soft waist. Aziraphale tangles her fingers in Crowley’s hair.

Crowley draws back, breathing unsteady. She reaches for Aziraphale’s hand and presses her lips to her knuckles. Then she turns her hand over and nuzzles her palm, leaving kisses there. She leans back up to recapture Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale holds her close, and Crowley thinks there might be tears on her own cheeks. She pants between kisses, which have grown desperate. It must be her doing, the desperation. She should slow down.

She’s shivering, she realises. She cups the back of Aziraphale’s neck and presses lingering kisses into the skin under her jaw and lower, above the collar of her buttoned-up shirt. It must be too much. Aziraphale has been pushing her away for millennia – for their safety, granted, but there is no way such advances would be welcome all of sudden.

“Tell me to stop,” she pleads, voice quivering. _Before I do something inexcusable._

Aziraphale’s hands are on the sides of her head, making her look into her eyes. Crowley tries to get her breathing under control. She must look a mess.

Aziraphale’s gaze is unspeakably tender, and her pupils are blown. She wipes Crowley’s cheeks with her thumbs. So she’s really been crying. Brilliant.

“Why should I do that?” Aziraphale asks, voice as gentle as her hands.

Crowley gulps twice before she feels she can even remotely trust her voice. “Because I’ll…” she trails off.

She’s on the verge of apologising when Aziraphale says, “Everything you’re doing is perfect, Crowley. You’re perfect.”

Is this a dream? It must be. Real Aziraphale would never say that, would she?

Aziraphale’s hand carding through her hair feels very much real, however.

“What do you want?” Crowley asks, trying not to sound too frantic, too eager. She needs directions to follow. She needs to be sure she doesn’t do anything that isn’t to Aziraphale’s liking.

Aziraphale smiles at her. “Exactly what you were doing.”

They go back to kissing. Crowley’s hands wander into Aziraphale’s hair, down her sides, under her waistcoat. Aziraphale’s shirt is tucked into her trousers, and Crowley doesn’t know if she’s allowed to untuck it. She wants to touch and caress and press kisses all over her body.

Aziraphale pulls back, leaning her forehead against Crowley’s. Crowley’s breath stutters. Aziraphale grasps Crowley’s hands and guides them to the buttons on her waistcoat. Crowley’s fingers are unsteady as she undoes them. Aziraphale shrugs off the garment and deposits it on the coffee table. Then she takes hold of Crowley’s hands again, leading them to the buttons on her shirt. Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s gaze on her as she works. Aziraphale doesn’t discard it as she did the waistcoat, instead looking at Crowley expectantly once she’s undone the buttons.

“Can I…?” Crowley asks. She needs to be sure. She hopes Aziraphale doesn’t mind that she needs it spelled out.

“Please, go ahead,” Aziraphale says. Her voice is hushed, but Crowley can hear the kindness in it. Crowley hopes it will remain there. She’s willing to do anything to ensure it does.

She helps Aziraphale out of the shirt, sliding the fabric off her shoulders after she’s pulled her arms out of the sleeves.

Crowley kisses the junction of her shoulder and neck, and then the smooth skin above her still-covered breasts. Aziraphale hums in pleasure, keeping her close with a hand on her waist. After a while, she cups Crowley’s jaw, making her look up.

“Crowley, I have to ask,” she says. “How far are you willing to go with this?”

“I’ll do anything, angel,” Crowley replies straight away. That’s one thing she’s confident about. “Anything at all.”

Aziraphale contemplates her. “I’d rather like to have sex with you, you see.”

Crowley’s nodding. She can’t think of anything else but making Aziraphale feel good. She wants to bring her pleasure, to see her skin flush and her mouth open as she gasps for breath. She wants to venerate her with her hands, mouth, anything Aziraphale wants. “Me too. I mean, not with myself. With you, obviously.”

Aziraphale chuckles, and it brings a smile to Crowley’s face. Aziraphale smooths a strand of her hair off her forehead. “We’d better move it to the bedroom, then, what do you say?”

“Yeah, good thinking,” Crowley says.

They ascend the stairs to the small flat above the shop. Crowley’s seen the inside of Aziraphale’s bedroom a few times before – she’d stayed the night after bouts of drinking a few times, but she’s never been in the room at the same time as Aziraphale.

The bedroom is dark, and Aziraphale flicks on the small lamp on the bedside cabinet. Dimmed by a conical lampshade, it fills its vicinity with faint yellowish light. The room is small, most of it taken up by a double bed. There’s a chest of drawers next to the door and a desk in the corner. Curtains with the same flowery pattern as the bed linen cover the window.

Crowley closes the door behind herself, feeling sheepish. But then Aziraphale is in front of her, her warm mouth on hers and hands grasping her hips. She’s a good six inches shorter than Crowley, and Crowley has to lean down so Aziraphale wouldn’t have to strain her neck.

Their kisses are gentle, dazed. Crowley’s heart hurts like it’s been out in the cold for too long and now has been brought into a well-heated room. Aziraphale’s hand slips beneath the hem of Crowley’s shirt, and Crowley caresses Aziraphale’s bare sides, relishing the pleased sounds Aziraphale makes. The idea that Aziraphale is enjoying herself, is enjoying having Crowley so close, turns every other thought in Crowley’s mind into fog.

Aziraphale pulls back slightly. “Undress me,” she says quietly, intently watching Crowley’s face.

Crowley reaches around her to unfasten her bra, Aziraphale lifting her arms to give her better access. Crowley slides the straps down Aziraphale’s arms, and then puts the undergarment on top of the chest of drawers. The thought of dumping it onto the ground is so brash and irreverent it doesn’t even cross her mind.

Crowley doesn’t know where to look, her gaze flitting about. Aziraphale must notice because she puts her hand on Crowley’s cheek, locking their eyes. She’s smiling at Crowley. Crowley feels startlingly exposed despite being the one fully dressed.

“I’ve thought about this, you know,” Aziraphale says in a low voice.

Crowley’s breath hitches. “You have?”

Aziraphale nods. “I’m guilty of quite a few things, I’m afraid.” She slides her hands down Crowley’s clothed chest lightly. Crowley sucks in a sharp breath. Aziraphale takes hold of Crowley’s hands as if they’re something precious. “I’ve wondered how your hands might feel on me. What you might do. How you might touch me.”

“Ngh,” Crowley says. Aziraphale kisses her again, and Crowley thinks she won’t get tired of that anytime soon. She’s always thought humans were glamorising kissing, because the few times she’s tried it, it was rather underwhelming. But this is Aziraphale, and she’s kissing her, and that thought makes her want to weep, laugh, dance and most of all, press as close to Aziraphale as she can.

She bows her head to pepper kisses above Aziraphale’s collarbones, and Aziraphale grips her nape with her plump hand. Crowley cups Aziraphale’s heavy breasts in her palms, dragging her mouth lower until it rests between them. She breathes in the comforting, sweet scent of Aziraphale’s skin. It makes her feel a gaping need, a hunger of an unquenchable variety. She maps Aziraphale’s breasts with her lips, kneading the underside with her thumbs. Aziraphale’s hand on the back of her neck tightens its grip. Crowley’s breathing is erratic as she places her mouth on Aziraphale’s areola, her cheek brushing her nipple. She turns her head to cover it with her mouth, sucking lightly.

The sound of pleasure which leaves Aziraphale’s mouth sends an electric shiver through Crowley. As she continues, Aziraphale rubs her shoulder blades in aborted circles.

Crowley pauses for breath (which she technically doesn’t need, but it’s quite difficult to concentrate on telling her body what it doesn’t have to do at the moment), and Aziraphale cups her jaw. Her touch is light, but it still makes Crowley look up. Meeting Aziraphale’s intense gaze, she straightens up. Aziraphale kisses her hard and pulls back before Crowley can reciprocate. Crowley can’t help the whimper that escapes her, her chest heaving.

“I’d quite like to get out of those trousers,” Aziraphale breathes, “if you don’t mind.”

Crowley has completely forgotten her initial task of undressing Aziraphale, too busy with the already revealed skin. She kneels in front of her angel to undo the zip of her trousers. She slides the fabric down Aziraphale’s legs, uncovering pale, wide thighs. She bends down to work on Aziraphale’s shoelaces, when Aziraphale’s hand on her shoulder stops her.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says quietly. “It’s too… I don’t know –” Crowley stands up. The faint light from the lamp allows her to make out Aziraphale’s blush. Better not show all her cards yet, then. Better not shock Aziraphale with all that Crowley would be willing to do for her.

Aziraphale takes off her shoes and socks and slides the trousers off the rest of the way, taking her underwear with it as an afterthought. Straightening up, she meets Crowley’s gaze and strokes her cheek, before her hand slides down onto Crowley’s shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Crowley responds. Everything is more than all right.

Warmth returns in a high tide as Aziraphale kisses her, clutching at her shoulders, her waist. Aziraphale separates their lips with a satisfied smile on her face, and takes a step away from Crowley to sit on the bed. She shuffles back to lean against the wall, legs bent and knees just enough apart that Crowley knows where Aziraphale wants her.

Crowley toes off her shoes and kneels on the mattress between Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale gets comfortable, wiggling into a half-reclined position, and runs her hands down Crowley’s sides. “Do you wish to take something off?”

Crowley swallows. If Aziraphale asked, she would, but as such, she has no wish to. “Maybe the jacket,” she concedes, because that _is_ making her feel more than marginally overdressed.

Aziraphale helps her out of it, her gentle hands sliding the fabric from Crowley’s shoulders. It makes Crowley burn, and she wonders if she’d self-combust if she allowed Aziraphale to remove more of her clothes.

Crowley runs her palms over the underside of Aziraphale’s thighs, ducking her head to press her lips to her knee. She trails kisses up Aziraphale’s thigh and her stomach. She’s wanted to kiss her adoration all over her for so long. She loves her. She loves her. She loves her.

She reaches down and feels how wet Aziraphale is. She’s done that. She, Antonia J. Crowley. To her angel. Aziraphale twitches at the contact, a little moan escaping her when Crowley rubs back and forth. Crowley’s lips continue their path over Aziraphale’s torso, sucking in the tender skin above Aziraphale’s breast, and Aziraphale gasps.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbles.

“It’s fine. In fact, do that again. And your hand, Crowley, please –”

A bruise forms where Crowley’s mouth has been, and she adds another next to it. Aziraphale inhales through her nose as Crowley brushes her fingers over her opening, coating her fingers in the wetness and spreading it around as she strokes her labia. She hopes she’s doing it right.

Aziraphale has her hand buried in Crowley’s short hair. She guides Crowley’s head forward into a brief, gasping kiss. “You’re so lovely,” she whispers.

She moans as Crowley cups her mound and slides two fingers part way inside her, curling them and rubbing them against her inner wall.

“Oh, you’re good at this,” Aziraphale remarks breathlessly. She reaches between her own legs to cover the back of Crowley’s hand with hers, pressing Crowley’s palm against herself more insistently.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of quality me time,” Crowley replies. She uses her free hand to feel around for Aziraphale’s clit, feeling clumsy. Aziraphale takes in a trembling mouthful of air as Crowley rubs over the nub.

“Did you ever think of me when pleasuring yourself?” Aziraphale gasps.

“As if I could have thought of anything else.” She drinks in Aziraphale’s closed eyes, her parted lips, her heaving chest. She’s more beautiful than Crowley could have ever imagined. “Every time, angel. Every bloody time.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says and then clenches around her fingers. Crowley can feel herself getting wet from the sensation, and her own walls clench as if it were her body experiencing it.

Aziraphale keeps Crowley’s hand in place as her breathing evens out. She grinds down on Crowley’s fingers and palm and manages to bring herself over the edge a second time with barely any help from Crowley. Crowley ignores the cramping in her wrist and adds a third finger, rubbing Aziraphale’s walls. The only sound in the room is their breathing until Aziraphale comes again.

She releases Crowley’s hand, and Crowley withdraws her wet fingers.

“May I take care of you as well?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley tenses. As turned on as she is, she’s unsure. She needs more time to get used to this. Having Aziraphale touch her had been a fantasy for so long that she doesn’t know how to even begin dealing with it becoming reality. “I’d rather if we could do that some other time,” she admits. “If there will be other times, I mean.”

“Of course, if you want to,” Aziraphale says, smiling. She shifts to her knees, mirroring Crowley’s position, and strokes her cheek with the back of her fingers.

“So I was all right?” Crowley asks, plastering a teasing grin on her face to hide how much the verdict worries her.

“You were wonderful, dear.” Aziraphale tugs her into a close embrace. Crowley wraps her arms around her, holding on tightly. “But this isn’t a test, you know?” Aziraphale mumbles into her hair. “I’ll be glad to figure it out with you even if it doesn’t always work.”

“Oh, good,” Crowley mumbles. It isn’t a test, she ponders. What a thought. Aziraphale rubs her back, and Crowley tries to picture a reality where Aziraphale stays by her side even after this, where she enjoys this – because it’s apparently the reality Crowley is living in. She doesn’t know what to do with the idea, so she clings to Aziraphale and concentrates on the feeling of her heart beating against Aziraphale’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
